


Before It Was Yule

by Kiraly



Series: Kiraly's Hipster Band AU [7]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: When the Troll Hunters & Co get invited to visit Reynir's family for the holidays, a festive tradition takes on a competitive edge. And for Onni, who didn't want to come in the first place, things get even more awkward when Reynir's brother won't stop talking to him. But there's more to Bjarni than first meets the eye, and Onni might just have a better time than he expected. If he doesn't manage to ruin everything first.





	1. The Mistletoe Rule

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, it's the BIWC-verse Onni/Bjarni story that literally no one asked for! I've been thinking about this story for ages, and had actually written a scene of it months ago, but since I've stalled so completely on the main BIWC storyline, I didn't think I'd ever post it. Well, in mid-December I looked at it again and thought "hey, maybe I can add a bit of context to this and post it for the holidays". So I started writing. And writing. And somehow it grew to be over 8k words, and we're a week into January, but hopefully people will still enjoy it. ^_^
> 
> Also, if it isn't clear, this takes place a year or so after BIWC. So the strained relationship Tuuri and Onni have in BIWC has mellowed out and resolved itself, so they're better able to spend time together without arguing.
> 
> And as with most of my other BIWC-verse stories, you don't have to have read the others to enjoy this. All you really need to know is Reynir and Tuuri are dating, Emil and Lalli are dating, Reynir grew up on a farm and Onni is an overprotective brother. ;)

Looking back on it, Onni could have blamed plenty of people for what happened. 

After all, it was the stupid rule about mistletoe—which Reynir’s mother insisted they follow, no matter what—that got him into the whole embarrassing situation. Even if it had seemed harmless originally.

“We can’t forget the most important decoration of all!” Sigríður Jónsdóttir said, directing her youngest son to hold the ladder steady while she climbed up. She fixed a sprig of greenery to the lintel, where everyone would pass beneath it on their way up or down the stairs. “There. Now we’re  _ really  _ ready for Yule.”

“Mistletoe?” Tuuri asked, grinning and nudging Reynir with her elbow. Onni pretended not to see. Bad enough that he’d let her convince him to join her boyfriend’s family for the holiday—he didn’t need to be constantly reminded that his baby sister wasn’t so little anymore. 

Sigríður obviously didn’t feel the same way. “Oh yes! I’m sure you two will have plenty of fun with this. But just remember, you have to follow the rule.”

“What rule?” Tuuri looked blank. “Aren’t you just supposed to kiss under it?”

“Oh, you are,” Reynir said, taking the ladder down. “But not just the person you’re dating.  _ Anyone  _ you get caught under there with.” 

“That’s right,” his mother said, and pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. “It’s tradition. Oh, don’t squirm, you’re never too old to kiss your mother.” Reynir laughed and kissed the top of her head.

Onni exchanged a  _ look  _ with Tuuri.  _ What have you gotten me into?  _

* * *

 

It might have been all right though—after all, it wasn’t as though people crossed paths on the stairs  _ all  _ that often—if not for Sigrun and Bjarni’s bet.

For some reason Onni didn’t quite understand, the invitation to visit for the holidays had been extended to all the members of Tuuri’s band. Lalli was invited because of Tuuri, and Emil was invited because he was, inexplicably, dating Lalli. But Sigrun had come along too, and she was delighted by the mistletoe rule.

“Kissing? I’m the most best at that!” She winked at Emil, who groaned. “I bet I manage to kiss everyone at least once before the week is out.”

“Is that a challenge?” Bjarni came in with an armload of firewood, stomping snow from his boots. “I’ll have you know, I’m the reigning champion of mistletoe kisses.” 

Sigrun grinned. “Oh, you’re on, Árnason.”

Onni sank further in his chair, willing himself to turn invisible behind his newspaper. Here was another unexpected part of the visit: three of Reynir’s siblings were also home, filling the old farmhouse to the rafters. Guðrun and Hildur had become fast friends with Sigrun, swapping wild stories and practicing martial arts in the barn. Bjarni, on the other hand, went out of his way to drag Onni into conversation. Whether Onni wanted him to or not. Not that he wasn’t  _ nice— _ the whole family were like variations on Reynir’s cheerful enthusiasm. But his attention made Onni nervous.

The newspaper didn’t help; as soon as Bjarni deposited the logs by the fire, he flopped down on the couch, right next to Onni. “You believe me, right? I’m totally going to win this thing.”

Onni sighed. “I fail to see why you would  _ want  _ to.”

Bjarni only laughed. “Not a fan of kissing under the mistletoe?” He leaned in close, propping his chin on Onni’s shoulder. “Maybe you’ll feel differently when it’s your turn.”

Onni shoved him away. “Not likely.” His face felt hot—he must have been sitting too close to the fire.

Still laughing, Bjarni took his leave. “We’ll see about that.”

* * *

When it came down to it though, Onni knew he had only himself to blame. He was the one who’d caved in when Tuuri begged him to spend the holiday there. He was the one who’d made it a point to dodge both Sigrun’s and Bjarni’s attempts to corner him on the stairs. One by one, the other family members and visitors fell prey to their competitive spirits. Tuuri had to declare Lalli off-limits, after Sigrun’s surprise kiss resulted in him hiding under a bed for an entire day. Which meant Bjarni tried to kiss people Sigrun hadn’t gotten, and Sigrun found ways to kiss those people too, so that after a while only Onni was left untouched.

Onni, for his part, avoided the stairs with their treacherous greenery as much as possible. He spent long hours by the sitting room fireplace, or wandering the farm with his hands tucked into his pockets. Surprisingly enough, it actually made for a relaxing vacation.

But he couldn’t avoid the others completely, and that was where he made his mistake. 

“Heya, handsome.”

Onni nearly fell off the fence he was sitting on. He swore, caught the fence post to steady himself, and glared. “What?”

Bjarni hitched himself up to perch next to Onni. “Sorry, did I startle you? My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your brooding.”

“Wasn’t brooding,” Onni said. At Bjarni’s raised eyebrow, he folded his arms and scowled. “I wasn’t. Just enjoying the quiet.”

“It is pretty loud in there right now, isn’t it?” If Bjarni was at all offended by Onni’s gruff manner, he didn’t show it. “I can’t blame you for escaping.” 

It was true that the house was more chaotic than usual. Sigrun and the Árnadóttir sisters had taken over the sitting room, working their way through a cask of mead and telling increasingly outrageous stories. Reynir and Tuuri were in the kitchen, carrying on another family tradition by baking enough cookies for a small army. Onni had offered to help and been chased out with a wooden spoon. And since Lalli and Emil had been sequestered in their shared guest room for an hour, Onni knew better than to bother them.

“It’s a bit much,” was all Onni said. Then, “I’m surprised you’re not in the thick of it, though. Thought you liked that kind of thing.”

Bjarni smiled. “Sometimes. But tonight I prefer the quiet.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the stars come out. It surprised Onni, how easy it was to be around Bjarni and not feel crowded. Most people got on his nerves after only a few minutes. But although there was something about Bjarni that made Onni’s palms sweat and his heart beat faster, Onni had no desire to send him away. It was...nice, having him there.

Eventually, Bjarni stretched and hopped down from the fence. “Hey, how about this: let’s go get a drink. No lovebirds, no nosy sisters, just the two of us and a pint.”

“A drink?” It was strange to think about seeing Bjarni outside the farm, but Onni knew that was stupid; surely he went out sometimes.

“Sure. There’s a pub down the road, just a ten minute walk. No need to drive.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Tuuri mentioned you won’t go near a car if you’ve been drinking. So no worries on that front.”

That decided it. If Bjarni cared enough to mention _that,_ without Onni even voicing his concern, the least Onni could do was have a drink with him. An hour at a pub couldn’t be any worse than an hour inside the farmhouse. “Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

The pub turned out to be a cozy room with a bar at one end and a fireplace at the other. Tables and chairs were scattered in between, populated with a selection of bored-looking locals. There were a few raised eyebrows as Onni followed Bjarni to the bar, but he assumed it was simple curiosity at seeing an unfamiliar face. Bjarni didn’t seem to notice; he smiled and waved at a few of the patrons before propping his elbows on the bar.

“Ásný! What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?” He grinned cheekily at the bartender, who rolled her eyes and flicked the end of her towel at him. 

“You could start by learning how to greet a person properly, instead of carrying on,” Ásný said. “I know your mother taught you better, Bjarni.” She caught sight of Onni lurking a step behind Bjarni and smiled. “And introduce me to your friend. He looks thirsty!”

Bjarni laughed. “I’m sure he is. Ásný, this is Onni Hotakainen, he’s out visiting for the holiday. You know about Reynir’s girlfriend? The one he met in the city?”

Ásný nodded. “Oh, yes, I heard. Half the young ladies in the county are heartbroken over it.”

“And half the young men, probably,” Bjarni agreed. “Well, her name is Tuuri, and Onni is her brother. Onni, this is Ásný Geirsdóttir. She runs this place.”

“Nice to meet you,” Onni said. “This seems like a fine establishment.” It was the polite thing to say, and also true.

Ásný waved away the compliment, but her smile was genuine. “Oh, it’s not much, but that’s kind of you. Looks like you’ve found a gentleman for once, Bjarni. Maybe he’ll civilize you.”

“That’ll be the day.” 

The banter continued for a while, with Ásný teasing and Bjarni joking back. It seemed like the two of them knew each other...very well. By the time Bjarni had wheedled a pair of free drinks out of her and installed them at a corner table, Onni suspected he knew why.

“So, uh, Ásný,” he said, accepting his glass from Bjarni, “Is she an ex girlfriend? Because you two seem awfully...close.” He took a sip of his drink and tried not to grimace.  _ Could be worse.  _ He didn’t usually drink beer, but it seemed like the kind of thing people ordered in pubs.

“Ha! No, but she and Hildur used to date. They were on-again, off-again for a few years there.” Bjarni busied himself with his own drink, then added, “Also I fucked her brother once, so even if she swung my way, Ásný wouldn’t look twice at me. Not that that stops some people, I guess.”

“Oh.” Onni washed that information down with more beer. It was better on the second try. “So you...and her brother.” His face burned; even asking that much felt like a huge invasion of privacy. But he didn’t know how else to respond.

“Yeah. Just once, when I was home on leave. Wasn’t anything special, but we had a good time.” Bjarni didn’t seem to care at all; if anything, he was warming to the subject. “After that I had a fling with one of the guys in my unit. Man, he was hot, but it was impossible to have a decent conversation with him.” 

“And you...do that a lot? Have...flings?” 

Bjarni shrugged. “Well, you know. Ten years in the military, and my unit was constantly on the move. It just didn’t seem like a good idea to go for anything more permanent.” He waved a hand at the room. “And by the time I joined up, I’d fooled around with just about everyone around here who was willing. Most of them are married off now, or moved away.” He shook his head. “But what about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Onni frowned into his drink. “No girlfriends. I’m not...interested.” Normally it was something he kept to himself, but since Bjarni clearly had no qualms about it, there was really no point. “Had a couple of boyfriends, though. Dated one of them for over a year, but it didn’t work out.” He drained the last of his beer. “It’s been...a while, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Bjarni signaled to Ásný for a refill. “What’d he do, cheat on you?”

“What? No.” Onni took a swig of his second beer; the stuff was growing on him. “My grandmother died, and I had school and work and two kids to take care of. I didn’t have time for anything else, so I ended it.”

“Two—Tuuri and Lalli?” At Onni’s nod, Bjarni reached across the table and patted his hand. “Damn. I can see why dating wouldn’t be a priority, then. But hey, you’ve got your shit together now, right? What’s stopping you?” He didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. But the question touched a nerve even so.

“Well, what’s stopping  _ you?”  _ Onni countered. “Reynir tells me you’ve been done with the Navy for a few months now. Are you looking for something more serious, or are you just...making the rounds of the locals again?” It wasn’t a fair question, he knew that even as it left his mouth. Strangely enough, Bjarni only sighed.

“I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, to tell the truth. I’ve been living at the farm, getting used to civilian life again, but...well, there’s not much of a life for me, here. It’s been nice being back, but I don’t really fit anymore. I’ve been through a lot. Seen things. Can’t expect someone to share a bed with me when I might wake them up with screaming nightmares, right?” For all that he said it lightly, Onni saw a spark of pain behind the words. He nodded in sympathy. His own dreams weren’t good company, either.

Bjarni continued, “I should probably do what Reynir did, move to the city and get a job. If nothing else, I’ll have more chances to meet people.” His face brightened a little. “Hey, maybe if I do, we can hang out! Bar hopping in the city, what do you say?”

Onni flinched. “Uh. I don’t know about that.” While he liked the thought of Bjarni living closer, the very mention of “bar hopping” made him want to emulate his cousin and hide under the table.

But Bjarni’s good humor seemed to be restored. “That’s just because your glass is empty again. I bet after another drink, you’ll be all for the idea! Ásný, how about another round?”

* * *

Two hours and several drinks later, Ásný chased them out of the pub with instructions to “go home while you can still walk straight”. Bjarni slurred something about how he never did  _ anything  _ straight, but he didn’t complain when Onni steered him through the door. He might have been unsteady on his feet—he kept putting his arm around Onni and leaning against him as they walked—but he maintained a steady stream of conversation. Unfortunately for Onni, he’d found a subject that interested him, and he wasn’t letting anything distract him from it.

“You really haven’t—ten  _ years?  _ Onni my man, how have you survived this long?”

Onni made to shrug off Bjarni’s hand on his shoulder, but the other man only gripped tighter. Since escape wasn’t an option, he grumbled, “I’ve been fine without it. And when would I have had the time? In case you forgot, I was trying to raise two teenagers by myself. Not really an ideal situation for romance.”

“Romance? Who said anything about that?” Bjarni released Onni to pull open the farmhouse door. The walk must have sobered him up, because he had no trouble standing now. “I asked you about  _ sex.”  _

Onni’s face went red from more than just the cold. “I’m...not in the habit of seeking out the latter without the former,” he admitted. He knelt to unlace his boots so he wouldn’t have to look Bjarni in the face. This conversation was going places he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for.

Bjarni’s voice softened. “No, you aren’t, are you? You’re not even in the habit of trying.”

Onni’s head snapped up, but his glare stalled at Bjarni’s sympathetic gaze.

“And no one else has really tried to reach out to you, have they?”

This was not precisely true. There had been people—fellow students, coworkers, the guy at the laundromat who always managed to be there at the same time as Onni—who had inquired, or suggested, or, in one case, outright propositioned. But he’d had the kids to take care of, school to finish, bills to pay—he’d turned them all down, and eventually people stopped asking. Except, apparently, for Bjarni, who seemed determined to repeat the question until he got a more satisfactory answer.

“You know, the whole ‘kids’ excuse doesn’t really work anymore,” he was saying as he rummaged in the cupboard for mugs. Onni worried about waking the rest of the household, but apparently late night ramblings were nothing new to Bjarni. He set the mugs down carefully, and took the kettle off the stove just before it started to whistle. “They’re adults, and have been for a few years now. They have their own lives. Why are you still holding back?”

“I’m not—it’s not that.” Onni clutched the mug Bjarni offered, grateful for something to do with his hands. “I’ve just gotten used to being alone. It’s fine.”

“Then why do you always seem so miserable?” Bjarni demanded. “I don’t mean to be rude, but—I know people who are perfectly content being on their own, and you don’t seem like one of them.”

“Why would you say that?” The words wormed their way under Onni’s skin.

Bjarni set his mug down with a  _ thump.  _ “Because I  _ have eyes,  _ Onni! I see you hovering on the edge of group conversations, wanting to join in but holding yourself back. I see the wistful expression on your face when your sister and Reynir hold hands, or when your cousin and his boyfriend do their sappy cuddly thing. I  _ see  _ it, Onni! I see  _ you.”  _

“Why…” the word barely came out, “why are you noticing all of this?” 

Bjarni sighed. “You’re not the only one who gets lonely.” He lapsed into silence then, sipping his tea and watching Onni over the rim of his mug. Onni searched for words, anything to say in response to that, and came up with nothing. So he followed Bjarni’s lead and drank his tea.

When the tea was gone and the silence stretched to awkward proportions, Onni stood. “Right. Well, I should go up to bed.” He went to the sink to rinse his mug.

“Same here. It’s late, and the booze has worn off enough that I know I’ll regret it if I stay up much later.” Bjarni followed Onni from the kitchen. “Getting old is such a pain in the ass.”

They reached the bottom step at the same time, and Bjarni paused to let Onni go ahead of him—then caught his arm and held him back. “Wait.”

“What?” Onni turned back to face him.

“Look up.”

Onni did, and froze. They stood directly beneath the mistletoe.

“You know the rule,” Bjarni said. Something wild flickered in his eyes, and he put his hands on Onni’s elbows to pull him closer.

“Your mother isn’t here,” Onni said, “No one will know if we break her rule.” His mouth felt dry, and he couldn’t seem to swallow.

“By that logic, there’s also no one here to see us if we  _ don’t  _ break the rule,” Bjarni countered. He stepped up, turning as he did so Onni’s back hit the wall. “Be honest with me. Have you  _ really  _ not thought about it? Do you hate the idea so much?” He leaned forward, eyes locking with Onni’s. “Or are you just afraid?”

Onni scowled. His heart pounded in his ears, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

“I’m not scared,” he said. The tightness in his chest was something else, surely.

A slow smile spread across Bjarni’s face. “Okay,” he said, “Prove it.”

Torn between the desire to flee and the desire to wipe the grin off Bjarni’s face, Onni kissed him.

At first, it was awkward: lips mashed together, a confusion of tongues and teeth where they didn’t belong. It had been years, after all, and Onni had never been particularly good at it in the first place. But when he pulled away and opened his mouth to apologize, Bjarni caught the back of his skull and tugged him in for another. This time things fell into place, and it was a long time before either of them retreated.

Bjarni smoothed Onni’s hair, letting his palm linger on his jaw. “Finally,” he said, grinning.

“You got your full set of mistletoe kisses,” Onni said. His stomach twisted; years of habit told him he should back away, bolt up the stairs and pretend this hadn’t happened. Act like it meant nothing, before the reality—that it meant nothing to Bjarni besides a challenge completed—could catch up with him.

But Bjarni’s smile dropped away. “What? No!” He let go of Onni’s face, reached down to catch his hands instead. “Or...I did, but I don’t care about that. I meant, I finally got the kiss I wanted.” He took a deep breath, and Onni couldn’t help noticing that his ears were turning red. “Onni. I  _ wanted  _ this, okay? I want  _ you.” _

Onni wanted it to be true. But he’d wanted a lot of things in his life, and for the most part he hadn’t gotten them. “How am I supposed to believe that? You’ve just spent the evening telling me about all the people you’ve had sex with. And I’ve watched you kiss everyone in this house over the past week.” He backed up—not that he could go far, trapped in the stairwell the way they were. “Is that why? Because it took the longest to get me?”

“Of course not!” Bjarni’s fingers tightened. “I didn’t—of course I kissed the others, but that was just messing around. This isn’t the same, I was hoping for—I  _ like  _ you. I thought, you know, we’ve been having a good time, and talking, and sometimes when you look at me I think—” He stopped then, and averted his eyes.

“What? What did you think?” Doubt and hope and fear—of course there was fear, he was  _ always  _ afraid—warred in Onni’s head. 

“I thought...that there could be something more between us.” Bjarni said at last. “Was I wrong?”

For about five seconds, Onni had thought the same thing. But then his mind had caught up with his body, and now he wasn’t sure of anything. “I don’t know,” he said. And then, “I’m going to bed now.” He turned to go.

“That’s it?” Bjarni demanded. “We can’t talk about it? You’re just...leaving?”

Onni paused, but he couldn’t make himself turn back. If he did, if he let himself look at Bjarni and remember the hours of easy conversation and the kiss—that  _ kiss,  _ gods—he might do something terrible. And so, ignoring the tiny part of him which screamed that kissing Bjarni again might  _ not  _ be terrible, he said, “Right.” And then he forced himself to keep going, one stair at a time, until he could no longer feel Bjarni watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to post this all as one long chapter, but I thought it might be nice to break it up. Still, I didn't want to make you wait when the story is finished, so read on for the conclusion!


	2. The End of the Old Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onni had his mistletoe kiss after all - and now he has to live with the consequences.

The next morning, Onni woke with a headache and the sense of lingering dread that always haunted him after a nightmare.  _ But that wasn’t a nightmare,  _ he thought, blinking against the light streaming through the window,  _ It was a kiss.  _ And he’d  _ liked  _ it, but he’d panicked, and then he’d run away and left Bjarni standing there. 

With a groan, Onni rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just go about his business and act like nothing had happened between them. Surely the second he laid eyes on Bjarni, he’d spontaneously combust from embarrassment.  _ This is worse than a nightmare. I wish I could just stay in here forever and never have to see him again.  _

But staying in bed wasn’t an option. He was supposed to be leaving that afternoon, dropping Lalli and Emil back in the city before going home himself. Tuuri and Reynir would stay here for a few more days of family time, then come back to the city to ring in the new year. It had all sounded like a good plan when he’d hashed it out with Tuuri weeks ago. It still was a good plan, except for the part where he had to show his face after what had happened last night.  _ You can do this, Onni,  _ he told himself,  _ just get through a few more hours.  _ He could go that long without thinking about the kiss, surely. Just a few more hours. He repeated the phrase to himself as he got dressed and made his way for the stairs.

_ Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours. A few hours, a few—  _

“Augh!”

“Eeeek!”

In his preoccupation, he hadn’t noticed Reynir and Tuuri on the stairs, locked together in a tight embrace, until he blundered right into them. The three of them stumbled, grabbing for whatever they could reach to steady themselves, and tumbled awkwardly into the living room.

Tuuri recovered first. “Aah, Onni! What were you doing?” She sat up, face blazing scarlet.

Onni rubbed his head. “I was thinking, I didn’t see you were there—and what were  _ you  _ doing, anyway?” He glared at her, and then at Reynir, who was blushing just as much as Tuuri and gasping for breath.

Tuuri glared right back. “What people are  _ supposed  _ to do under the mistletoe, piss-head! I was kissing my boyfriend, and I refuse to feel bad about it.” She bent over Reynir. “Are you all right, love?”

“Fine,” Reynir said, finally sitting up. “Maybe we should, uh, not do that in the middle of the hallway next time though.” 

“Or  _ some  _ people should look where they’re going,” Tuuri grumbled. 

“Aww, are you sore that your kiss got interrupted, Short Stuff?” The rest of the household had come to see what the noise was about. Sigrun grinned and continued, “It’s not like you two need mistletoe as an excuse to do that. Unlike  _ some  _ people.”

“It wasn’t an excuse, it was a challenge,” Bjarni said, coming up beside her. “And I still say you’re cheating by counting Lalli.”

“All’s fair in love, war, and mistletoe,” Sigrun said. “And unless you’ve added to your count since yesterday, I beat you by one.”

_ Oh. Shit.  _ It was happening. Everyone would find out now, and Onni wouldn’t have to get through the next few hours because he’d die on the spot. He held his breath and waited for Bjarni to tell everyone what had passed between them.

Bjarni met Onni’s eyes from across the room, and for just a moment the pain from last night showed plainly on his face. Then he sighed. “Sorry Sigrun. I guess you really are the best at this game.” He held up his hands in surrender and turned away from Onni. “So remind me, what does the loser have to do?”

A short time later, everyone gathered on the side of the house that faced the barn. There’d been more snow overnight, and most of the group wore warm boots and heavy layers. Everyone except for Bjarni, who braced himself against the cold wind and set off towards the barn, naked and shoeless. When he reached it, he turned, saluted, and took off at a run around the building. The words of Sigrun’s favorite drinking song drifted across the yard, even as he rounded the corner. Eventually the song grew louder as he came around the other side; he waved and kept going.

“How long does he have to do this?” Onni asked eventually, trying and failing to avert his eyes. After four laps, Bjarni was starting to slow down. It made Onni ache with cold just looking at him.

“This song has at least twelve verses,” Tuuri said, “But I think he gets to stop if he actually collapses first.”

* * *

“So what the  _ hell  _ was that?” Onni stared fixedly at the bathroom ceiling, trying to count the tiles so he wouldn’t be tempted to look down. Because if he did, he’d be looking at the bathtub, and the bathtub had Bjarni in it.

“ _ That _ was the result of losing a bet with Sigrun,” Bjarni said. “Remind me to never do that again.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Onni said. “Why did you do it? You could have told her...that you didn’t lose.”  _ You could have told her that we kissed,  _ he meant, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Water sloshed in the tub, and Bjarni sighed. “Can’t this conversation wait until I can feel my toes?” He ran the tap for a minute, then hissed in pain. “Damn. Never mind, there they are. Keep going.”

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Onni couldn’t stop himself; he turned his glare on Bjarni. “You could have hurt yourself! It’s lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

Bjarni propped his elbows on the edge of the tub and grinned. “Aww. Were you worried about me? I feel warmer already.”

Onni closed his eyes. He was trying, but Bjarni was trying his patience. “Are you ever serious?”

“You want serious?” Something about his tone made Onni open his eyes again. Bjarni still leaned against the tub, but now his posture was stiff. “Okay. I didn’t tell Sigrun about our kiss because I knew you’d hate it. You made it pretty clear that you don’t like to mess around, and if I told everyone what happened you’d never forgive me.” He rested his chin on his arms. “And you wouldn’t let me apologize last night, so I thought I’d just...show you. I shouldn’t have pressured you into something you didn’t want. I’m sorry, Onni.”

“You’re sorry...for kissing me?” The words felt strange on his tongue.

“Well, yeah.” Bjarni’s mouth twisted. “You didn’t seem very happy about it.”

“I wasn’t...unhappy.” At Bjarni’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Not about that, I mean. It was…” Deep breath. “I didn’t hate it. I liked it. I just didn’t know what to do afterwards.”

“You...didn’t hate it.” Bjarni shook his head. “Then why did you just shut down like that?”

“I told you, I’m not good at this!” Onni said. “I don’t know how to kiss someone who I’ve only known for a week, who I might not ever see again. I don’t know what to do with that! And then you said you  _ wanted  _ me, and I—” His breath was coming too fast, and his heart beat loud in his ears. “I’ve never known what to do with that. With being wanted.”

Bjarni took a long, slow breath. “Shit. Onni, I—”

“It’s not your fault. Not completely, anyway.” Onni rubbed his forehead—the headache had returned. “You didn’t know. And you certainly didn’t need to apologize like  _ that. _ ”

“So I didn’t need to risk hypothermia to ask your forgiveness?” A ghost of Bjarni’s smile appeared. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

Onni chose to ignore that last line. “No, you didn’t. And speaking of hypothermia—I’m not sure a bath is really the best way to warm up from it. Shouldn’t you be getting into dry clothes?”

Bjarni laughed. “I’m not actually hypothermic, I was just cold. A bath sounded nice.” He sat up taller and winked at Onni. “But if you’re really worried, you can help me dry off?”

Onni folded his arms and clenched his jaw. Just because the sight of water beading on Bjarni’s bare chest made his whole body heat up, that didn’t mean he had to dignify it with a response. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything, Bjarni sighed. “Or you could hand me a towel. And get my robe, if you don’t mind. It’s hanging on the door.”

Onni passed him a towel and turned to get the robe. He held it out in the direction of the bathtub with his eyes averted, but it didn’t stop him from hearing the sounds of water dripping from skin or the two careful steps from tub to bath mat. 

“You know,” Bjarni said, amid the sounds of vigorous toweling, “It’s kinda cute that you won’t even look at me right now. I’m sure you got a good show earlier.”

“I—that was different!” Onni wanted to protest that he hadn’t been looking at Bjarni like  _ that,  _ he’d been worried about his feet freezing off—but that wouldn’t be entirely honest. “I’m not just going to—to stare at you!”

The robe slipped from his fingers—Bjarni had taken it. “Such a gentleman. But really, you could stare if you wanted to.” A hand settled on Onni’s shoulder, and Onni nearly jumped out of his skin. “Say, Onni...look at me, would you? I promise I’m decent.”

“That’s funny, I’d say you’re the most indecent person I know,” Onni grumbled. But he turned, and met Bjarni’s thoughtful gaze. “What is it?”

True to his word, Bjarni had wrapped himself in the faded blue robe. His hair—what little of it there was—stood up haphazardly in a line down his scalp. He looked relaxed, and tired, and entirely too much like the version of himself that Onni had kissed. “I just wanted to clarify something,” he said. “A few minutes ago, you said you didn’t hate what happened last night. The kiss.” He brought his other arm up, so that both hands rested lightly on Onni’s shoulders. “You said you liked it. Is that right?”

Onni was sure his blush must be visible from outer space. But he nodded. “Y-yes.”

“So with that being the case, what would you say to another one?”

“I think…” He could say no. He could turn, and walk out, and leave this whole confusing thing behind him. Bjarni would understand, this time. 

But he didn’t  _ have  _ to do any of those things.

“I think I’d like that.” 

Bjarni’s face lit up. He stepped forward, sliding his hands to either side of Onni’s face. He leaned in, and Onni tipped his head up to meet him—

A loud knock sounded on the door. “Onni? Are you in there?”

_ Tuuri. Oh, shit.  _

“Y-yes? What do you want?” 

His voice sounded strained, but Tuuri didn’t seem to notice. “You’re supposed to get on the road soon, remember? You said you wanted to be home before dark. Emil and Lalli are ready to go whenever you are.”

Right. He was leaving. And Bjarni was staying, and if there had ever been a chance for a repeat of last night, they’d just missed it.

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” Bjarni murmured. “Drive safe.” His hands dropped to his sides.

Onni sighed. “I will.” And then, on impulse, he caught Bjarni’s hand and squeezed it. “If you do come to the city, look me up.” 

He carried Bjarni’s smile with him the whole drive home.

* * *

As the year drew to a close, Onni settled back into his usual routines. It was a relief to come home, to sleep in his own bed and cook in his own kitchen and not have to share a bathroom with half a dozen other people. But the relief came mingled with regret.

So when the morning of New Year’s Eve rolled around, he was glad to have something to focus on besides how empty the house felt. Tuuri and Reynir were coming back to the city, and once they picked up Emil and Lalli all four of them would join Onni for an early dinner. The band had a gig at the Mad Moose, and Reynir had to work, so they’d all agreed it made sense to plan their family celebration around that.

Onni was in the kitchen laying out ingredients when his phone chimed. He unlocked it, expecting to see a message from Tuuri about their arrival time. Instead, there was a number he didn’t recognize.

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: new phone, who dis? _

After a moment’s consideration—should he just ignore it?—Onni replied:

_ ONNI: I’m sorry, I think you may have the wrong number? I didn’t call you. _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: oh wait no _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: I meant, I just got YOUR number _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: on my phone _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: so you should send me a selfie so I can text @ your face _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: handsome ;) _

_ ONNI: … _

_ ONNI: Bjarni? _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: no no you can’t be Bjarni  _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: unless… _

_ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: you’re me...from the future… _

_ ONNI: … _

_ ONNI: No. _

He took a moment to add the number to his contacts. It was absurd, how seeing Bjarni’s name on the screen brought a smile to his face.

_ BJARNI: well if you’re not me then you must be Onni _

_ BJARNI: of course the best way to prove that would be to send a selfie _

_ BJARNI: ;) _

_ ONNI: I don’t take selfies, I always look terrible _

_ BJARNI: selfies always look terrible that’s half the point _

_ BJARNI: but if you won’t do it then I guess we’ll just have to take one the next time I see you _

_ BJARNI: ;) _

Onni rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed in place. 

_ ONNI: We’ll see about that _

_ ONNI: But anyway, Happy New Year! _

_ BJARNI: don’t say that too soon, we still have a few hours of the old year left to cause trouble _

_ BJARNI: go to a wild party _

_ BJARNI: find some hottie to kiss as the clock strikes 12 ;) _

_ ONNI: Speak for yourself, I never do any of those things on New Year’s Eve. _

_ BJARNI: no time like the present to start _

_ BJARNI: in fact I bet you’ll do at least one of those things before midnight _

_ ONNI: … _

_ ONNI: I thought you were going to stop making reckless bets. _

_ BJARNI: maybe I’ll make it my new year’s resolution ;) _

Still smiling, Onni set his phone aside and went back to his cooking. If he wanted to have a happy new year of his own, he’d better get dinner ready before the others arrived.

* * *

The front door opened just as Onni was taking the rolls out of the oven. “Leave your boots on the mat,” he called, setting the tray on the cooling rack. Their timing was perfect; everything was ready, he just had to take the food into the dining room.

From the entryway, Tuuri called back, “Of course we’re taking our boots off, we weren’t raised in a barn! Well...not  _ most  _ of us.”

“Hey!” That was Reynir. Someone else laughed, and Onni froze. That hadn’t sounded like Emil or Lalli.

He rounded the corner just as the group finished removing their boots and came into the main part of the house. Tuuri flung herself at him for a hug, while Reynir waved and Lalli tugged Emil away from the crowd. But Onni only had eyes for one person, who leaned against the doorframe and took in the scene with a huge grin on his face.

“Did you miss me?” Bjarni asked.

Onni just stared—his mouth opened, but he couldn’t put together any words. Tuuri broke in, saving him from further embarrassment.

“I hope you don’t mind having an extra person for dinner! Bjarni decided to come to the city for New Year’s, there’s not much to do on the farm and it’s really quiet, so we invited him to come visit! And I know you always cook tons of food, and whatever you made smells amazing—”

Her words brought Onni back to himself. “The food! Of course, we have plenty. I’ll just...go get that. Coats can go in the closet and you know where the dining room is—we’ll have to set an extra place…” He waved them off in the direction of the dining room and retreated to the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, he braced himself on the counter and took a deep breath. Bjarni was  _ here.  _ In his  _ house.  _ Suddenly the teasing via text message felt much more real, knowing Bjarni was in the city instead of stuck on the farm.  _ Why did he come?  _ The memory of their almost-kiss floated to the surface, the frank longing in Bjarni’s eyes and the disappointment when they were interrupted. Onni shook his head, trying to drive the thought from his mind.

“I like the apron and the oven mitts. That’s a good look for you.”

Onni’s head snapped up to meet Bjarni’s laughing gaze. Then he looked down at himself: he’d forgotten all about the apron, which had ruffles and said  _ World’s Best Grandma  _ across the chest. A much younger Tuuri had bought it, before she was old enough to realize that their grandmother hadn’t been a “ruffles” kind of person. Onni had found it folded neatly in Grandma’s closet, unworn, and decided there was no point in getting rid of something that was in perfectly good condition. Now he realized he might have made an error in judgment.

The floral print oven mitts had been his own purchase though, and he refused to feel bad about them.

“Thanks,” Onni said, reaching for one of the serving dishes. “I guess you missed where the dining room is, so follow me and I’ll show you.”

“Oh, no, I came to see if you need help!” Bjarni said, “Do these go in here?” He indicated the tray of rolls and the napkin-lined basket sitting on the counter beside them. At Onni’s nod, he started transferring them over.

“You don’t have to—you’re a guest,” Onni protested. 

Bjarni ignored him. “If I’m eating, I’m not sitting around while you do all the work.” He picked up the basket and nudged Onni with his elbow. “Besides, I like spending time with you. What else needs to go?”

Onni opened his mouth—then closed it, and indicated a vegetable tray. Bjarni took that too, and followed Onni out of the kitchen. At the entrance to the dining room, Onni paused for a moment and turned back to look at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, quiet enough that no one else would hear. 

Bjarni beamed at him. “Me too.”

Dinner was one of the strangest meals of Onni’s life. Not because of the food, which was nearly perfect, but because he both wanted it to go faster and dreaded its end. He knew it made no sense—Bjarni would be going off with the others when they were finished—but part of him thrummed with impatience.  _ Get a grip,  _ he scolded himself,  _ with this many people here, you’re not going to get a moment alone with him. Just enjoy the evening.  _ And he tried, he really did. He listened to Tuuri and Reynir talk about their last few days at the farm, laughing with everyone else when they described Tuuri’s encounter with a bad-tempered ewe. He tried not to grimace when Emil and Tuuri filled Bjarni in on some of their band’s exploits. And he managed to answer Bjarni’s occasional questions, slipped in when there was a lull in the conversation, without making a complete fool of himself.

But he couldn’t hide his dismay when the conversation turned to the upcoming show at the Mad Moose. 

“So we can drive back to our house first, so we only have to take the one car,” Tuuri was saying, “As long as you don’t mind a bit of a squeeze, Bjarni. Then you can drink as much as you want, since I’ll be driving home.”

“I wish you didn’t have to be out on the roads tonight,” Onni said. “I know you’re careful, but other people—”

“Wait, you’re not driving?” Bjarni asked. He frowned at Onni. “I thought you would...unless you’re staying over with us tonight? I don’t mind sharing the couch.”

“What?” Onni shook his head, trying to rid himself of that mental image. “Of course not, their couch is atrocious. I’m staying here.”

“So you’re...coming back here after the show, or…?”

“I’m staying  _ here.”  _ Onni repeated. “I’m not going out with you all. Bars are bad enough at the best of times, but on New Year’s Eve...no.” He shuddered. It would be loud, and crowded, and full of people who enjoyed being pressed up against sweaty strangers with lowered inhibitions.  _ No thanks.  _

“Onni isn’t really a ‘going out’ kind of person,” Tuuri said, “But don’t worry, it’ll still be fun! There’ll be good music, and plenty of people to meet.”

“Yeah.” But Bjarni didn’t look excited. He seemed almost...disappointed. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. Although now that we’re talking about it, I’m...well…” He rubbed his forehead. “Just can’t seem to shake this headache. Maybe I should call it an early night.” 

“Aww, one of your sinus things again?” Reynir asked. “Well if you want to go home early, we can give you a key.”

“And we’ll try to be quiet when we come back so we don’t wake you,” Tuuri added, shooting Emil a meaningful glance. He blushed, and started to protest, but Onni ignored that and turned to Bjarni.

“So you’re sleeping on their couch? That’s not going to help anything if you’re sick, it’ll probably make you feel worse.” An idea was forming, though he cautioned himself not to get his hopes up. “Why don’t you just stay here? I have a guest room with an actual bed. And you won’t have any drunk idiots parading through and singing pop songs while you’re trying to sleep.”

“I swear, that was  _ one time—”  _ Emil said, but Lalli patted his arm and he subsided.

“A guest room, hmm?” Bjarni perked up. “That would be great, actually.” He turned to Tuuri and the others. “I hope you won’t be too disappointed if I miss your show? I’m sure it’s gonna be awesome, I just don’t think concerts and headaches are a good mix.”

The others assured him that they would be fine. Soon enough they were on their way out the door, in a flurry of coats and boots and well-wishes. Then it was quiet, and only Onni and Bjarni were left. 

“I...should get started on the dishes,” Onni said, suddenly nervous. It was stupid—he hadn’t offered anything besides a place to sleep. But now that they were alone, a whole realm of possibilities presented themselves. And they didn’t involve much sleeping.  _ Stop that,  _ he told himself, trying unsuccessfully to think of something else. He had no business thinking of Bjarni’s bare chest gleaming with bathwater, or the glint in his eyes when they’d almost kissed, or  _ anything  _ he’d seen during that little stunt in the snow.  _ He’s a guest, and he’s not feeling well. Get it together. _

If Bjarni was thinking anything along those lines, he didn’t show it. “Oh, sure.” He helped carry the plates into the kitchen, planted himself in front of the sink, and refused to listen to Onni’s argument that he shouldn’t. “No, I’m not letting you do all this by yourself, you did the cooking! I’ll wash, you dry since you know where everything goes.” Onni gave in, and for a while they worked in silence. Without conversation, it was even harder to keep his thoughts from straying. He kept  _ noticing  _ things, like the little smile that appeared whenever Bjarni finished a plate and handed it over. Bjarni’s hands, long-fingered and growing red from the hot water. Bjarni’s arm bumping his on accident, nearly making him drop a glass. It was all too much. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

When the last plate was put away, Onni gathered his dignity and cleared his throat. “So...if you want to turn in early, I can show you the guest room. Do you need anything? Something to help your headache?”

Bjarni wiped his hands on a dish towel. “You know, the headache isn’t really bothering me as much now. I think I’ll probably be okay.” There was a smile hovering at the edge of his lips. “But there is something you could do. If you want.” He turned to Onni and placed a hand on his cheek, fingers curled loosely. “There’s no one here to interrupt us, this time.”

“You—” Onni’s thoughts ground to a halt.  _ I’m not the only one who wants this. He wants it too.  _ All the arguments melted away. There was nothing to stop him. So he did what he’d been wanting to do all evening, and lifted his head to kiss Bjarni. Bjarni made a pleased sound against Onni’s lips, and responded with enthusiasm. His hand cupped Onni’s jaw, and the other slid behind Onni’s back to tug him closer. Onni felt the heat of their bodies pressed together, his own pulse hammering beneath Bjarni’s thumb. Bjarni’s heart was pounding too; Onni had one hand pressed flat against his chest. He pushed, gently, and Bjarni reluctantly broke the kiss.

“Onni, what—” 

A deep breath. “Why did you come here?” There was a blush blooming on Bjarni’s neck, and Onni wanted nothing more than to kiss it. But he needed an answer first.

“Why do you think? To see you.” Bjarni relaxed his grip, but Onni made no move to pull away. He smiled. “And...to see if you’d still be willing to kiss me.” His head tilted, both question and invitation.

“What about your wild party? If your headache is better, you could still go to the bar and meet up with the others.” Onni hated to say it, but he couldn’t leave it alone. Bjarni liked being around people. He liked noise and excitement. He could be out with the others, having fun.

“I never came here for a wild party,” Bjarni said. “I only planned to go to the show because I thought you were going too.”

“Me?”

“I know, you don’t like crowds. But I thought, hey, we could talk, and have some drinks, and...well, I was hoping I could lure you off into a corner somewhere and kiss you.” Bjarni’s blush had risen all throughout his face. “I guess I don’t need to worry about that now, though.”

In spite of himself, Onni laughed. “No, you really don’t.” It still sounded insane—why would Bjarni come all the way here, just for him? But the evidence was piling up. And an ever-growing part of him said it didn’t matter, really. Bjarni was here. He’d chosen to stay with Onni. And he was still pressed close, perfectly within kissing distance.

“Okay,” Onni said. He tucked his face between Bjarni’s neck and shoulder, letting his lips brush skin. “So you don’t want a wild night out?”

“Mmm. No.” 

“And you don’t want to go looking for trouble?” Onni placed a kiss on Bjarni’s jaw.

“Already have the best kind right here.” Bjarni sighed.  _ “Onni.”  _

Onni pulled back so he could look in Bjarni’s eyes. “And a kiss when the clock strikes twelve?”

Bjarni grinned. “Why wait?” He leaned forward, and Onni met his mouth with a smile of his own. 

* * *

“I think I won that bet.”

Onni stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Hmm?” His body felt pleasantly heavy, and warm despite the cool air of the bedroom. Light filtered in from the hallway—he’d been too distracted to switch it off, but the door had been kicked mostly shut, leaving the room dim. Not worth getting up to fix it now. He was perfectly content to stay where he was.

Even in the dark, he could see Bjarni’s smile. “The bet. I said you’d have a kiss before midnight.” He raised himself on one elbow to see over Onni, then sank back to the pillow. “It’s 11:49. Guess I was right, then.” 

“Mmm.” Onni turned his head a little further into his own pillow. He’d had a good deal more than just a kiss, and Bjarni wouldn’t be needing that guest room after all. It was strange, how easy it all felt, after so much waiting and worrying. He knew this sense of peace probably wouldn’t last, but he’d take it while he could get it.

Bjarni was still smiling at him. “So if I won the bet, shouldn’t I get a prize?”

Onni rolled over to face him. “We didn’t agree to one. But if there’s something you want…” He let his voice trail off invitingly.

“Oh, I can probably think of something.” Bjarni traced a finger down Onni’s ribcage. “But before that...I wanted to tell you…” He took a deep breath. “I’m planning on staying in the city. I don’t know what I’ll do yet, or where I’ll live, but...I’m going to be around.” He flattened his palm to Onni’s skin. “So if you want to try doing something more with this, I’d...like that.” As Onni blinked in confusion, he added, “And I know, from everything I’ve told you I don’t usually do that kind of thing, but I’m in a different place in life and I really like you and—well, we’re starting a new year. So no time like the present for trying new things, right? Onni?”

Onni laughed. “Bjarni, give me a minute to say yes, would you?” He closed the space between them with a brief kiss. “I’d like that. I’m glad you’re sticking around.”

They lay there for a moment, just holding each other close. Then Bjarni looked at the clock again. “It’s midnight,” he said. Their lips met in another kiss, long and deep. A promise of things to come.

“Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Onni alluded to this, but I wanted to be clear: it's not a good idea to warm up a hypothermic person in the bathtub! I had thought there was some merit to starting with lukewarm water and gradually raising the temperature, but no, apparently it's best to get them into dry clothes, wrap them in blankets, and get them to drink or eat something sweet to replenish their energy. (If, that is, you can't get them to a hospital, which should really be the first course of action). Anyway, those things weren't as fun as an awkward bath scene, so I ran with it anyway, but I wouldn't want people to take it for sound medical advice. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my ridiculously self-indulgent shippy nonsense, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
